Love to Believe: Fireflies ~ Book 2 Read online

  Rebecca wished her employees a safe and happy Thanksgiving and, after the last of them tromped off to the parking lot, she devoted her time to cleaning up the mess. While she moved about the room, tossing stray Styrofoam cups and napkins into a garbage bag, her brain worked overtime.

  More than two weeks had passed since her relationship with Nate imploded, and her arrangement with Sean remained a faint glimmer on the horizon. She had neither seen Sean nor talked to him and, as more days passed, she began to second guess their conversation. Two double martinis and her exhaustion that night might have skewed the reality. What if the whole thing was just Sean playing their stupid verbal game? What if she took the next step and discovered he had no interest after all? That he’d just been playing? Big points for Kinkaid, and she’d look and feel like a fool.

  And even if Sean was as serious as DEFCON-1, was she? In spite of all her big talk, was she really the type of woman to enter into this sort of soulless arrangement? Sean figured she had never been intimate without her heart being involved, and he was right. Even with Nate, although she hadn’t wanted their relationship to move up to the next level, still, she knew that it could when and if she was ready. That option didn’t exist with Sean. And if she were honest with herself—god, that was so hard to do—she had to admit her feelings for Sean were already stronger than they should be. Add physical intimacy to the mix and she’d be a goner for sure. One kiss had blasted her over the moon.

  She thought back to that night and her stomach flipped. She closed her eyes and set her hand on her abdomen, as if that could stop the tumbling. And, geez, the man smelled good. It should be a sin for any man to smell that amazing. She breathed in, and her imagination replaced the heavy odor of BBQ with Sean’s spicy scent—light, clean, tempting and—

  “Okay, that’s enough,” she said aloud. “I’m officially an idiot female.” She pushed Sean Kinkaid from her mind and focused on the task at hand.

  Tossing the last of the trash into the bag and knotting it closed, she hoisted it over her shoulder like Santa’s helper and hauled it outside to the gray dumpster that sat like a crouching gargoyle in front of the dried kudzu blanketing the stand of trees at the far end of the parking lot. The sun shone but did little to dispel the freezing wind, and Rebecca ran back to the office to escape the unseasonable cold, and the unsubstantiated notion that she was being watched. She slammed the door and rubbed her arms over her sweater, shivering, and headed straight to the kitchen for coffee.

  Bam-bam-bam. Rebecca poked her head out of the kitchen. She’d shut down operations and sent everyone home after the meeting. Who would be visiting the office at three o’clock the day before Thanksgiving?

  Bam-bam-bam.

  She peeked through the closed blinds on the window next to the door. Nate, looking handsome in his sheriff’s deputy uniform, had raised his hand to pound the door again but saw her adjust the blinds and waved instead. He mouthed the word, “Please,” and she paused a moment, then nodded.

  Rebecca unlocked the door and yanked it open. She looked beyond Nate to his sometimes partner, Artie Brewster, who sat inside the cruiser with his eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. She didn’t care for Artie, but she smiled and waved anyway—damn her Southern upbringing that forced her to be polite to blustering macho assholes—unsurprised when he yawned and looked away. She remembered him from high school, a dumb jock with an inflated ego, a bully. Twelve years later and he was still an asshat.

  “Hi. Thanks for opening the door.” Nate’s dark eyes, which Rebecca had at one time likened to her favorite espresso brownies, reflected his misery. He stepped into the office, alongside a swirl of winter wind, and Rebecca shut the door behind him before he took two steps in. He fidgeted in place, shifting on his feet, and blurted, “I don’t even know where to begin. I’m so sorry, Rebecca. I’m stupid, I’m an idiot. It’s taken me two weeks to get up the courage to talk to you.” He gulped, the sound loud as a gunshot in the quiet room. “Please forgive me.”

  “Nate, I—”

  “You don’t want anything serious. I get that. I do. I lied when I said I planned to propose.” He lowered his head and stared at his feet for a moment before lifting his gaze back to her. “I just wanted to make you feel bad. Juvenile, I know. Immature. I embarrassed you, I embarrassed myself. I’m so, so sorry. Will you please give me another chance?”

  His boyish expression looked at odds with his uniform. In that moment he reminded her of her nephew, Caleb’s five-year-old son, TJ.

  “I’m sorry, Nate. It’s not going to work out.”

  “Rebecca, please. I promise I won’t do anything stupid like that again. It wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t been drinking so much, and we were together long enough that you know I don’t behave that way under normal circumstances.”

  “Nate, you called me a liar, and not for the first time. I’m sorry, but I don’t lie, and I can’t—won’t—be with someone who thinks that of me.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have accused you. Again, I blame the whiskey. I’m not a drinker, Rebecca. You know that. I can promise you this won’t happen again.”

  “How did you get home that night? You didn’t drive, did you?”

  “No.” He sighed. “I was arguing with the guy at the valet stand when Sean Kinkaid came out of the restaurant. He dragged me inside and called a cab, paid the cabbie when he showed up. Shit. The guy even covered my bar tab.” Nate ran his hand over his short-clipped hair and shook his head. His cheeks darkened with embarrassment. “I think I owe him about a hundred bucks.”

  Rebecca recognized the familiar heat streaking over her chest and neck, crawling into her face. Humiliation bloomed and she pressed her cold hands to her cheeks for respite. Dear god, what must have been going through Sean’s mind that night? First he dealt with Nate’s drunken shenanigans, and then she all but threw herself at his feet. The poor guy probably spent the whole evening hoping to find a way to extricate himself without being impolite.

  Apparently, the damned Southern hospitality gene afflicted him, as well.

  “So, Sean bailed you out. Well, he bailed me out, too, because you left me without a way to get home, genius. So we both owe him.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I’ll pay Sean back for both of us. I owe you something for being three hours late, even if the circumstances were beyond my control.”

  “I don’t expect you to pay—”

  “I know you don’t, but I’m going to. I need to be the one to settle this debt with Sean. Please don’t argue with me, Nate. Just say thank you.”

  He hesitated, but nodded. “How’s your neighbor? The one who got hurt.”

  “She’s okay. She didn’t slice into bone. She had a consult with a hand surgeon last week, but I don’t know what happened with that.”

  “Could we go out sometime soon, you know, just to talk? I promise not to order anything alcoholic.” His lips tugged into a crooked grin. “I miss you.”

  “I’m sorry, Nate.” Rebecca opened the door. “Have a nice Thanksgiving weekend. I appreciate you stopping by.”

  Nate stepped to the doorway, leaned down to brush Rebecca’s cheek with his lips, smiled his crooked smile, and walked away.

  ***

  Rebecca pulled her Honda Civic into the parking space a few storefronts down from the Lump & Grind. A biting wind penetrated her outerwear and set her to shivering, so she increased her speed-walk to a full jog past Bubba-Jo’s Café and Aunt Addie’s Antiques, and welcomed the warmth and comforting aromas of fresh-brewed coffee and cinnamon buns permeating the interior of the Lump & Grind.

  She waited in line behind a spiky-haired teenager in full goth regalia and a man in business attire who appeared focused on the voice buzzing through his wireless ear-bud.

  Rebecca hadn’t expected to find the place packed the day before the holiday with every table and chair occupied, a hum of excitement threading through the buzz of conversation. Brenna manned the register, and her warm laugh
and Southern belle charm ensured smiles from the customers, even the businessman who clicked off his call the moment Brenna smiled at him and met his gaze with her Kinkaid blues.

  “Hey, girlfriend,” Brenna said when Rebecca stepped up to the counter. “You look like a popsicle.”

  “I feel like one. It’s freaking cold out there. It’s never this cold so early in the winter.” Rebecca shivered and set her purse on the counter. “I need a caramel macchiato, and I’m heading up the street to Sean’s office, so I’ll be nice and bring him some coffee, too. What’s he drink?”

  “Americano, black.” Brenna studied Rebecca’s face. “You have business with Sean? Or—”

  “I owe him some money,” Rebecca held up her hands, “and before you say it, I know I’ll be seeing him tomorrow, but I don’t like owing anybody anything. I want to pay him today and get it out of the way. Hey, what about his office manager, Mrs. M? What does she like? I’ll bring her coffee, too.”

  “She drinks tea, and she’s picky about it, makes it herself from stuff Sean orders for her online, so you’re off the hook.”

  “Okay, well, what do I owe you?”

  “On the house,” Brenna said, “as long as you join me for a true crime marathon on Sunday.”

  “Sounds good. Come to my place. I’ll feed you crock pot chili for lunch and espresso brownies for dessert.”

  “Yum. I’ll bring Maddie and margaritas, assuming I can tear her away from Caleb and TJ.”

  “You’re on. How’s one o’clock?”

  “Perfect. I’ll confirm it with Maddie,” Brenna said.

  After collecting the coffees Rebecca stepped once again into the frigid mountain air. She speed-walked past her car to the end of the block and turned left toward Sean’s office. She’d never been to his office before, but she passed it often enough and recognized the gold lettering on the window: Sean P. Kinkaid — Attorney at Law. A festive Christmas tree aglow with multicolored lights shone through the window, and a toy train chugged around the track surrounding the base of the tree. A gray tabby with a red bow around its neck lay curled up to the right of the tree and looked so real Rebecca did a double take.

  “Cute,” she murmured, and wondered if Mrs. M deserved the credit for the eye-catching display. It had to be, because no man on the planet would think to use a stuffed cat toy for holiday décor.

  A bell jingled over the door when Rebecca stepped into the welcome warmth of Sean’s place of business. She breathed in the homey scent of bayberry and found the source to be a candle flickering on the credenza behind the secretary desk, a gorgeous piece of workmanship built from oak. A brass nameplate announced the inhabitant of said desk to be The Great and Powerful Mrs. M.

  Rebecca glanced down the hallway and counted two open doors on the left and three on the right. The hum of voices drifted from the farthest office, and she recognized Sean’s laugh before a woman said, “Mr. Kinkaid, you’re going to force me to drink hard liquor just to get through the day. And you owe money to the swear jar. You may as well put a twenty in there, because I lost count after your twelfth use of the ‘F-word’ today.”

  A moment later the owner of the voice appeared and marched down the hall. Her smoky curls circled her head like a cotton candy puff and formed a stark contrast to her skin, the color of dark rum. She moved like a freight train in sensible shoes, her arms pumping and hips chugging as she puffed down the hall.

  “We just got a new phone system,” she said to Rebecca as if the two of them were already in the middle of a conversation, “and that man can’t remember to push the ‘off’ button on the intercom. I’ve been hearing way more than I need to hear about things that are none of my business. He’s got a potty mouth on the best of days, but today he’s saying things on purpose just to shock me.” She snorted. “As if.” She settled her hands on her ample hips and tilted her head. “You need to make an appointment, honey? I know you don’t already have one, because I’m the gatekeeper, and I’m good at it.”

  “Uh, no, ma’am,” Rebecca lifted the two coffees she held. “I’m here to talk to Sean for a few minutes.”

  Mrs. M raised a bushy brow and nodded, understanding drawing her full lips into a pucker. “Mm-hmm.”

  “Mrooow.”

  Rebecca jumped when the cat leapt from the window display, trotted to her, stretched its body up the length of her leg to her knee, and butted its head against her thigh.

  “Oh, my god, you’re real.” Rebecca stared down at the cat’s blinking orange eyes and looked up at Mrs. M with a wide smile. “When I saw her in the window I assumed she was a stuffed toy.”

  “Oh, she’s stuffed, all right. Mr. Kinkaid won’t stop giving her treats. It took me a week to sweet talk him into letting her hang out in the office until the foster home is ready for her, and now that she’s here, he won’t stop feeding her.”

  Rebecca glanced around for a place to set the coffees down and opted for a parquet table situated between two brocade loveseats. She bent to give the cat a scratch and then offered Mrs. M her hand. “I apologize for not introducing myself. I’m Rebecca Walker. My brother Caleb is marrying Sean’s sister-in-law, Maddie.”

  Mrs. M’s expression moved from cynical to open with a broad smile, her white teeth bright against her dark skin. “Of course. I met your brother a few months ago when he came in with Maddie. It’s a real pleasure.” She shook Rebecca’s hand. “Let me just tell Mr. Kinkaid you’re here.”

  “Thanks.” Rebecca retrieved the coffees. “I intended to bring coffee for you, too, but Brenna said you prefer to brew your own tea.”

  “That’s right. I do love my special tea, but you’re a doll for thinking of me.” She lifted the phone receiver and pressed a button, tapped her foot while she waited for Sean to pick up. “You have a visitor. Rebecca Walker to see you, and I’m collecting Sasha and going home. You enjoy your turkey day tomorrow and, for heaven’s sake, disconnect the intercom when we hang up.” She listened for a response and smiled at Rebecca as she said, “You’re a smart ass, Mr. Kinkaid. Not everyone finds that attractive,” and hung up the phone. “Last office on the right,” she told Rebecca and plucked her calf-length coat from the hat rack beside the credenza. “Enjoy your Thanksgiving, Ms. Walker. Please give my regards to your brother and his lovely bride-to-be.”

  “I will, Mrs. M. Happy Thanksgiving.”

  Rebecca took her time walking down the hall, peeking through the open doors as she went. Conference room on the right, bathroom on the left, file room on the right, kitchen on the left. That meant the last office on the right belonged to Sean.

  She slowed her pace and made an effort to steady her breathing. Her nerves birthed a gnawing beast in her belly and she regretted her decision to come. They would both be at his mother’s house tomorrow. Why, oh, why hadn’t she just waited until then?

  Man up and get a grip.

  Rebecca stepped through the door and stopped short to avoid a collision with Sean. He caught her upper arms to steady her.

  “Sorry,” he said and released her. “I didn’t mean to run you down. I thought you were waiting in the front office.”

  Rebecca didn’t trust her voice, so she held out his coffee and smiled to buy herself some time.

  “Thanks.” He took the proffered brew and sipped. “Come on in and sit down. I’ll be with you in a moment. I have to go feed the swear jar or I’ll be in trouble come Monday morning.”

  Rebecca sighed and looked around. A mahogany desk and credenza, as impressive as the oak furniture in the lobby, sat in front of a pair of wide shuttered windows. She opened the slats of one, peered out at one of Bright Hills’ busy streets, and imagined Sean in his executive chair contemplating law strategies while pedestrians strolled past. She snapped the shutters back into place and moved to the wall displaying his diplomas in narrow black frames, surprised to see he had accomplished his undergraduate work at NYU and his law degree at Yale. Yale, for god’s sake! The man could write his own ticket to anywhere. What the
hell was he doing in Bright Hills?

  She set her coffee on his desk to look at the framed photos on his credenza. She studied a decades old picture of the whole Kinkaid clan and marveled at their superior DNA, and a picture of Sean with Brenna and Jack, taken when they were all in their twenties, by the looks of it. She picked the photo up, noted the similarities between the brothers. Jack, though smaller in stature than Sean, had lacked nothing in the looks department.

  Sean stepped back into the room. “Mrs. M is working to expunge my colorful vocabulary.” He grinned. “I think it’s a losing battle, but I’m working on it.”

  Rebecca smiled. She set the photo down and moved from the credenza to stand behind one of the leather guest chairs opposite the desk. “Jack looked a lot like you.”

  Sean’s smile held steady. “Yeah, he did. He was luckier in love and a lot smarter than I am, though I would never have admitted that to him.”

  “Luckier I can believe, because he was married to Maddie. But smarter?” She nodded toward his diplomas. “Why aren’t you practicing law in Manhattan or LA? Or even down in Atlanta?”

  “That’s a long story and not worth talking about.” He sipped his coffee. “Care to take a seat?”

  “Uh, no, thanks. I can’t stay.” Rebecca drew a deep breath and blurted, “Nate came to see me about an hour ago. He decided it was time to apologize. I, uh, understand you paid for his cab and his bar tab.”

  Sean shrugged. “So?”

  Rebecca withdrew money from her coat pocket and held it toward him. “I’d like to pay you back for that night. It wasn’t your problem to deal with. I appreciate you bailing us out—really appreciate it—but I’d like to pay you back.”

  Sean glanced at the two hundred-dollar bills in Rebecca’s outstretched hand and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “It isn’t ridiculous to repay a debt. First you took care of Nate, and then you wasted the rest of your night taking care of me. I owe you.”